


Richie Tozier's Top Five, Desert Island List of All Time Worst Heartbreaks

by jadedpearl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Getting Back Together, HEAVY on the dialogue LITE on the exposition, High Fidelity AU, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, M/M, Romantic Comedy, just like I like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 17:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30076011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedpearl/pseuds/jadedpearl
Summary: “You know what I mean,” Richie says. “I don’t have a number one because I’ve never actually been through good old fashioned, Taylor Swift heartbreak. I only said it because you guys went first and that’s the format of the list.”Bev scoffs. “Oh, you have so gotten your heart broken, you little Pisces freak. You and your water soaked chart is every stick n poke theatre arts major’s wet dream. Answer the question.”...Richie takes a deep dive into his dating history to figure out why he's destined to be left. Or, a High Fidelity AU.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	Richie Tozier's Top Five, Desert Island List of All Time Worst Heartbreaks

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au based on the 2020 tv show, not the movie which i haven't seen lol. some parts are lifted pretty directly from the show (the premise of tracking down old exes, and connor is basically kat) but otherwise i'd call this a remix (ha) rather than a straight au as it doesn't really have anything else to do with the events of the show. here's what you need to know: bev owns a record store. richie and patty work there. mwah. 
> 
> content stuff: use of the word slut in a joking way; bev is a lesbian and richie is gay and they have dated in the past out of repression, so there's some jokes abt that; queer ppl joking abt being queer in a somewhat crass way, as we do; dumb foot fetish jokes but no actual foot fetishists present

“Ok, so,” Richie says. “Here is my top five list of all time worst heart breaks: Beverly Marsh, Connor Bowers, Bill Denbrough, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Stanley Uris. In no particular order.” 

Patty and Bev, sitting on the edge of their stools, immediately groan and lean back almost in unison. “That is such a cop out, Richie,” Patty says, rolling her eyes and folding over dramatically to rest her cheek on the glass surface of the countertop. “You  _ have _ to rank them. Don’t be such a little bitch.” 

“Yeah,” Bev says, pricing gun in hand. She’s in the middle of labeling some second hand records they just bought from the scuzzy guy who comes in sometimes. She waves it at Richie now. “Don’t be shy. Who’s your number one? Is it me?” 

“I don’t have one,” Richie says, slumping like Patty and resting his chin on his forearms. “Never actually been in a relationship serious enough for anyone to take that spot.”

“Ohhh,” Bev says, setting the pricing gun down. “So you’ve never, you know.” She makes a loose, crude gesture that’s clearly supposed to be a hand job, never mind that Richie’s been inside of her before. 

It’s slow in the shop today - just one customer in the far corner, nodding his head to the Lil Simz record they’ve got playing softly over the speakers. Bev, Patty, and Richie are doing what they always do when it’s slow: sitting at the counter at the front of the shop and arguing for fun. Bev runs kind of a tough n loose establishment - sometimes she’ll bark orders, but most of the time she’s cool to shoot the shit with them about music or life or whatever bullshit Patty got up to on her day off. Having known Bev since college, Richie takes her seriously - especially since she pretty much gave him the job after they broke up. He likes to think of it less as a consolation prize and more of an extended invitation to be in each other’s lives forty paying hours a week. He spends most of his time off the clock with her too. 

“You know what I mean,” Richie says. “I don’t have a number one because I’ve never actually been through good old fashioned, Taylor Swift heartbreak. I only said it because you guys went first and that’s the format of the list.”

Bev scoffs. “Oh, you have so gotten your heart broken, you little Pisces freak. You and your water soaked chart is every stick n poke theatre arts major’s wet dream. Answer the question.” Here she bats her eyelashes at him obnoxiously. 

“I’m gay,” Richie says. “Like, I already told you that years ago, and also you’re a woman. So. The obvious answer is no?” 

“Hm.” She picks up the pricing gun again. “So what you’re saying is, this is less of an ‘all time top five heartbreak’ list, and more like everyone you’ve hooked up with in the last five years. In which case, I’m there right under the wire.” 

“Bill was college,” Richie says, hiding his face completely now.

Patty reaches over to sympathetically pat Richie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Rich. I bet everyone on your list was a real asshole.” 

“Hey,” Bev says a little warningly, but without any urgency. 

“Which isn’t a bad thing in your case, Beverly,” Patty says immediately. “But also I’m mostly saying that because you’re our boss.” 

“No,” Richie says, still muffled into his arms. “Bev is an asshole and there’s nothing good about it. I’m pretty sure the universe sent her my way as some kind of cosmic punishment.” 

“It’s cool,” Bev says, when Patty’s comforting shoulder rub turns into a few swift smacks. “I like to think of it like, I’m so hot that even Richie, a gay man, made an exception for me.” 

Richie lifts his head and mouths,  _ see? Asshole  _ to Patty. To Bev he says, “The literal only reason I’m going to let that slide is because you’re a lesbian, which means I can say that  _ I’m  _ so hot that  _ you  _ made an exception for  _ me.  _ Check and mate, motherfucker.” 

“Yeah, but when you take into account the different socializations of men and women and how that affects - “ 

“Richie,” Patty interrupts, in the tone of voice she uses when Bev gets going on gender theory this early in the morning, “I noticed. You’re being a real sad sack this morning.” 

“How am I being a sad sack?” At her look, he reroutes, saying, “Okay, so I’m not allowed to be a sad sack after talking about my  _ top five all time worst heartbreaks _ ?” 

“I talked about mine,” Patty says. “You don’t see me moping about it.” 

“That’s because there’s a tiny lump of coal where your heart should be,” Richie says. “Also, your bodega guy doesn’t really count if you’ve never dated him.” 

“Maybe I’m psychic and I know that we’re gonna date and then break up and I’ll have to switch bodegas. Maybe we’ve  _ already _ dated and broken up, and I didn’t tell you because I’m mysterious and reserved.” Richie snorts. She ignores him, and continues with, “Or maybe you’re just avoiding the question, Richie Tozier.” 

“Fine,” Richie says, because Bev is right about his chart. “Josh ghosted me.” 

Bev looks up at the ceiling consideringly.. “Which one was Josh again? The one with the with the in unit - “ 

“The one with the in unit laundry,” Richie confirms. Bev winces. “I never even washed anything at his place.” 

“Yikes,” Patty whispers. The hand on the shoulder is back. “Why isn’t  _ he  _ on your top five list?” 

“I mean, we only dated for a month.”

“So? I get my parents to send me quarters in the mail for Hanukkah. When was the last time you think he even set  _ foot  _ in a Laundromat?” 

“You know,” Richie says, “I get the allure - and it is a loss - but I’m actually more bummed about being ghosted than the laundry.” Patty shrugs, and Richie continues. “Like, what’s wrong with me, you know?” 

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong with you,” Bev says, unconvincingly. 

“Thanks, Bev,” Richie says flatly, and then scrubs a hand through his hair. “But it’s not even about Josh, you know? Like, I’ve been ghosted a million times. At a certain point,  _ I’m  _ the problem, right?” 

“I don’t think your low self esteem can be the blame for  _ everything _ ,” Bev says. “Like, maybe you’re just picking the wrong guys. Or girls.” 

“All girls are the wrong girls,” Patty mutters, which is kind of about being Richie being a gay man, but might also have to do with her last big ex. 

Richie sits up and points at Bev. “Okay, but that would still be my fault, right? Because  _ I’m  _ the one that picked them. Maybe I should…maybe I should like, talk to the Big Five. Get the reviews.” 

Bev raises an eyebrow. “ _ All  _ of them? Even Bill?”

Richie hasn’t spoken to Bill since he was maybe twenty two and Bill took up that writer’s residence in Vermont straight out of graduation. Kinda lost touch after that. “Yeah, why not?” 

“Why  _ not _ ?” 

“Wait, what’s the deal with Bill,” Patty asks, and Bev grimaces. 

“He’s straight,” Richie says. 

Bev widens her eyes dramatically. “Um, if you give a guy a hand job once a week for two years, is he really straight?” 

“If you give a mouse a cookie…” Patty says thoughtfully. 

“If a forest is chopped down and no one - wait, fuck, that’s wrong. If a  _ tree _ is chopped down and no one hears it, did it fall?” Richie says. 

“The tree is still toeing the line of homosexual behavior,” Bev says firmly. “Even if it says it’s straight.” 

“Kind of sounds like the line is way behind the tree,” Patty muses. “Like, way,  _ way,  _ behind it. Two years? That’s like, a hundred and four hand jobs. On average.” 

“This is why we hired you,” Bev says. “Math.” 

“You hired me because I was there when the last guy got fired,” Patty says. “Kind of a right place, right time thing.” 

Bev sighs. “Henry was a hire of desperation. He only lasted two days before he said a slur.” 

“Poor guy just couldn’t help it,” Richie mutters sarcastically. 

Patty turns to him. “Were the hand jobs really weekly?” 

Richie nods miserably. “Saturdays. Usually after he came home from dinner at his parent’s.” 

Patty grimaces and whistles low. “Whoaaa. Something’s wrong there.” 

“Bill has a weird family,” Bev agrees. “Anyway, he’s not straight.  _ I  _ dated him in college, if that tells you anything. We basically shared clothes.”

Patty laughs. “What, is Bill a women’s four?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Dressed like a lesbian.” 

“It was art school,” Bev says. Patty hums knowingly. “Everyone dresses like a lesbian. Really sets us lesbians back, if you ask me. All these size four men wandering around in cargo pants. Would be confusing for anyone.” 

“ _ So  _ glad I’m a poli-sci major,” Patty says. “On account of all the, um, political science I’m doing now. Hold on. Was Richie giving Bill hand jobs while you -“ she points to Bev “- two were going out?” 

Bev and Richie exchange glances. “Well - “ Richie says, at the same time Bev says, “Technically - “ 

“Never mind,” Patty says. “I’m gonna write it off to one too many circle jerk poetry readings at your TA’s end of term house party. Those do something to a person.” 

“Look,” Richie says, desperately trying to rein the conversation in. “We’re like, twenty eight, twenty nine. So we’ve matured by now, right?” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bev says, and sticks her tongue out. “Dirty thirty, baby.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me jealous of being older,” Patty sighs. “You make me feel like a little bitch baby for being twenty eight.” 

Bev winks. Richie says, “ _ Look. _ We know Bill isn’t straight. Or he is, and I was just a blip. An inexplicable, irresistible blip who only listened to Weezer and smoked so, so much weed.” Bev nods solemnly. “But now, I’m twenty nine and my tastes have expanded. I’m just gonna, uhhh, email him. And then we’ll get lunch or whatever and he can tell me what it is about me that makes me so unlovable.” 

Bev opens her mouth and pauses before saying, “ _ Once again _ , I think Bill was going through a lot and I doubt it had much to do with you, _ per se _ .” 

“Thanks,  _ Bev. _ ” 

“Sorry! Sorry. I meant that in a,  _ you’re not unlovable way _ , but I can see how it came out different.” 

“Hold up,” Patty says. “You’re really gonna hunt down the four guys who broke your heart or whatever so you can ask them to tell you, to your face, what’s wrong with you? All this because a guy ghosted you?” 

“Not  _ a  _ guy,” Richie says. “One, as in one out of many. Come on, you wouldn’t want to know from  _ your _ exes?” 

“The only thing I want to know from my exes is that  _ they’re _ having a hard time,” Patty says. “That’s why I dated musicians for so long. For the break up songs.” 

Bev pulls a face. “God, it’s so not worth it.”

“Bev,” Richie says, and gives her puppy dog eyes. “I want your blessing.”

She sighs. “You’re the main character of your story, I guess.” 

Richie whoops. The guy in the corner looks over at them, until Patty gives him a  _ mind your business  _ look. Real great customer service here, at Championship Records.. “So you think it’s a good idea?” 

“No, it’s for sure super weird and selfish,” Bev says. “But I do kind of want to see what Bill’s up to.” 

_ Asshole,  _ Richie mouths to Patty again, and puts his head back down on the counter. 

+

It’s been a good seven or eight years since Richie’s seen Bill, and he’s definitely lost his number since then. But it doesn’t take much more than a quick Google search to find out that Bill is an assistant professor at some college in Lower Manhattan, which then leads Richie to his university email. 

He shows Bev the email he’s going to send, drafted on the office computer. She’s standing behind him with a hand braced on the back of his chair, eyes scanning quickly as she smokes a cigarette. “Holy shit,” she says, blowing smoke right into Richie’s hair on purpose, like an asshole. “You weren’t kidding.” 

“You told me I should!” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually send Bill Denbrough an  _ email _ . Is that your phone number at the bottom?” 

“My Gmail has like, eight thousand unread messages,” Richie says. “There’s no way I’d catch a response.” 

“You know,” Bev says, taking another drag on the cigarette before putting it out on the overflowing ashtray on the desk. “I honestly would have thought you’d be too embarrassed to do something like this.” 

“You have to have dignity to get embarrassed,” Richie, like most sitcoms don’t make him cringe. “Plus, it’s kind of funny. Like, a fucking professor? Jesus.”

Bev laughs. Richie grins up at her in time to see her eye catch on something in front of them. “Oh, hey,” she says, “Speaking of dignity.” She gestures out the office window that faces into the store, where Stan Uris has just walked in. 

Richie and Bev watch as Patty makes some small talk with him at the counter. Bev says, “He doesn’t usually drop by like this. I’m kind of surprised he’s here without calling ahead.” 

“Definitely atypical,” Richie agrees. Stan is one of those people that Richie can’t really believe he ever dated, because he owns an ironing board and is very typically into the Beatles. If Richie had to guess at a through line for them, it’d probably be Joni Mitchell. They dated for four months spanning the end of 2017 to early 2018, before they broke up on Valentine's day in a Ghirardelli Ice Cream and Chocolate Shop. That was also around the time Richie’d discovered that he’d developed some kind of lactose intolerance, which he hadn’t even known could happen in your mid-twenties. Despite that, he looks back on the break up with a degree of pride, because it’s one of the only times he’s managed not to unintentionally make a complete and total scene. He’d say he managed to retain his decency, but a lot of their relationship was actually Stan pointedly looking away when Richie dropped food on the floor, said “five second rule!” and picked it back up to eat it. Which, in retrospect, is probably why they broke up in the first place. 

Stan’s also not the type of person to exit completely from Richie’s life afterwards, because they met through friends in the first place, and it was amicable enough that Bev refused to take sides. Due to Richie’s smooth handling of the break (in public, that is) and his frankly masterful performance abilities, he’s managed to stay chill for the most part. It helps that Stan has very firm boundaries and has never, not once, led Richie to believe that they were anything but over. In retrospect it’s one of the healthiest relationships Richie’s ever been in. 

_ Well,  _ Richie thinks, when it looks like Stan’s found his purchase for the day.  _ This is as good a time as ever.  _ He slides out of the office to meet Stan at the register. 

“Hey Richie,” Stan says cooly, handing over a Bread record. 

“Hi Stan. Nice choice. Hey,  _ so _ ,” he says, taking the crisp twenty Stan hands over, “Inquiring minds would like to know. Why did you break up with me?” 

Stan looks at him, unfazed, and raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t break up with you. It was mutual.” 

“Mutual,” Richie scoffs, counting out change. “I listened to nothing but Ashlee Simpson for two weeks straight. If it was mutual I would have worked it out with like, Lizzo.” 

“Lizzo didn’t have an album out when we were together,” Stan points out. 

“Bullshit she didn’t have an album out, she just didn’t have a major label release. And haven’t you ever heard of an EP?”

“Whatever,” Stan says, holding out a hand for his change. “Ashlee Simp isn’t a bad choice, either. Autobiography is a decent album.” He shrugs. “Look Richie, we both knew that we worked better as friends. Case in point, we’re still friends.” 

Richie grunts. “Are we?” 

“Yes. You text me Sopranos spoilers and I don’t block you. You invited yourself into my apartment to watch the Super Bowl halftime show on Brad’s TV, and then left as soon as they started playing football again. You’re always sending me pictures of pigeons like we don’t live in New York. I never left you, because I’m still here. Now can you please sell me the record?” 

“Fine,” Richie grumbles, handing over a couple of dollar bills. “I hate that you’re so well adjusted. And the Sopranos came out, like, twenty five years ago, man. They’re not spoilers. ” 

“They’re spoilers because you know I haven’t watched it. And I’m not well adjusted, I’m twenty nine,” Stan deadpans. “I’ll be well adjusted when I can afford a place of my own.” 

“Roommates giving you trouble?” 

“Soo-jin started smoking again.” 

Richie winces and slides the record into a paper sleeve. “Sorry dude.” 

“Hm,” Stan says, taking the vinyl. “Thanks for the super normal conversation, dude.” 

“Anytime!” 

As soon as the bell rings above the door, indicating Stan’s departure, Bev says, from next to Richie, “You are such a weirdo.” 

Richie jumps. “Dude,  _ don’t  _ sneak up on me like that!” 

Bev ignores him. “You feel like you learned something super enlightening, there?” 

“Well…” 

“No?” 

“Not exactly,” Richie says. Bev raises her eyebrows. “Meaning…I should probably keep going, right? I mean, I already emailed Bill.” 

“Oh my God,” Bev says. “You’re going to get your feelings hurt.” 

“Every day, baby.” 

She rolls her eyes and ruffles his hair affectionately. “You’re  _ such  _ a Pisces.”

+

“How the fuck is Connor verified on Instagram?” 

It’s been a few days, and the shop is as slow as ever. Patty shrugs from behind the register, where she’s glued to her phone. “Doesn’t he do like, those super exclusive warehouse shows out in Hoboken?”

Richie looks over at her. “Yeah, but since when does that make you like, like…. _ verified _ ? It’s  _ Hoboken _ .”

Patty widens her eyes and shrugs in solidarity. “I can’t believe you slid into his DMs.” 

“He changed his phone number,” Richie says defensively. 

“It’s still pretty pathetic. Did he message you back?” 

“....not yet.” 

Patty leans over to look. “Oh my god, he left you on read.” 

“What’s going on?” Bev asks, appearing behind the both of them with a crate of vinyls. 

“Richie DM’d Connor Bowers on Instagram so he can ask him why he’s destined to be left,” Patty announces, pocketing her phone. 

“Connor Bowers, like that douche with the shitty noise shows out in Jersey?” Bev’s eyes light up. “Nooooooo,  _ your  _ Connor is  _ Conner Bowers _ ?” She turns to Richie, who avoids eye contact. “How did you hide this from me?” 

Patty sits up straight. “Wait, didn’t he drop by the store once? Like a year ago. I wouldn’t normally remember a customer but he was super weird and bought like, two hundred bucks worth of early Daft Punk and Oliver Cheatham. All his stuff is like, glitchcore. It didn’t make sense.” 

“Yeah, that was him,” Richie says. “He only listens to disco and Drake when he’s not making, uh, music.” 

“Not sure that early Daft Punk counts as disco,” Bev says. “It’s like, dance music. French house music.” 

“ _ Early  _ Daft Punk.” 

“I still don’t - “

“Random Access Memories was like, a return to form, tell me that’s not disco - “ 

“Was it? When you compare it to, fuckin, Earth Wind and Fire? No.” 

“It’s a  _ genre,  _ not a - wait, he messaged me back,” Richie says. “Fuck.” 

“Open it, open it!” Patty says, leaning up onto her elbows to look over Richie’s shoulder as he opens his messages. There’s a beat of silence as they both read, and then she says, “Oh, dude, he spelled hey with  _ way  _ too many ys. Watch out. He wants your dick.” 

“He texts everyone like that,” Richie mumbles. 

“That’s true,” Bev says, nodding. “He was my plug for a few years, back when Obama was president. I just didn’t realize he was the same guy you were hooking up with. Huh. Anyway,  _ super  _ confusing texter.” 

“It’s not confusing,” Richie says defensively. “He probably wanted to fuck you too. He wants to fuck most things.” 

Bev puts a hand on her hip. “Are you like, slut shaming him because he’s bisexual?” 

“I don’t think he uses that word,” Richie muses. “Also, isn’t it actually worse to assume that there  _ aren’t  _ slutty bisexuals? Like, that whole demographic has to be all sanitized now so straight people don’t freak out. Queer people in general, really. It’s like, respectability politics.” 

“Oh, so  _ someone  _ remembered how to read,” Bev shoots back, and then, both realizing at the same time that they’re probably not the ones who can settle this kind of debate, they turn to look at Patty. 

“What, like I’m the voice of my people, now?” Patty says, irritated. She’s taken Richie’s phone, and is scrolling through Connor’s Instagram and scowling. “Dude sounds like a slut no matter what. I’m honestly surprised he’s not straight. I know it’s not 2014 anymore, but I feel like he should be wearing a snapback.” 

“He has straight energy,” Bev agrees, right as Richie says, “Oh, he  _ super  _ had a snapback phase. He looked like Matty B.” 

“ _ God,  _ Matty B,” Bev says, with relish. “Okay, top five worst thirteen year old white Youtube rappers, go.” 

Richie sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I want to ‘yes and’ you so bad right now but all I can think of is Jacob Sartorius. Does he even rap?” 

Bev starts counting off on her fingers. “Matty B, Jacob Sartorius can count, Nick Bean - “ 

“So are you gonna message him back?” Patty interrupts. “Because, like, you totally left him on read.” 

Bev shakes her head. “Instagram is so messy.” 

“Oh,” Patty says. “He sent you his phone number.

“Okay, okay,” Richie says, and holds his hand out for his phone. “Fuck off, both of you.” 

“Good luck,” Patty says, and rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, good luck keeping your dick dry,” Bev snickers. Richie flips her off. 

+

Conner picks up on the eighth ring, which is a little insulting but not exactly surprising. 

“Richie,” he says warmly when he finally answers, drawing it out in a vocal fry drawl that Richie is pretty sure is affectation rather than wholly innate. As far as he knows, Connor’s from Indiana. “How have you  _ been,  _ man?” 

“Fine,” Richie says. “I mean, good. Really good.” 

“Awesome. Hey, sorry it took me a little while to get back to you,” Conner says. “I was at this studio upstate - it’s crazy. Surrounded by all that nature. Feels like the trees are speaking to you, you know?” 

Richie, who’s a city kid, says, “Uh huh, totally.” 

“Anyway, I can’t believe how long it’s been. I mean, it’s insane right? I can’t even imagine going back to my past self and telling him what’s up now. Like, crazy.” 

Richie, who’s working the same job he was working when Connor dumped him, caps and uncaps a pen. “Yeah, it is crazy.” He’s sitting on the floor by the desk, phone jammed between his ear and his shoulder. 

“But look, I have an idea of why you’re calling,” Conner says. “You know, Adrian actually texted me recently. You remember him?” 

Richie does remember Adrian, because he’s the guy Connor ‘went out with’ right after Richie. Richie feels totally fine about it. He did not listen to Before he Cheats a lot, especially since there is no evidence that Connor cheated. Actually, it would have been impossible for him to, because they never had the exclusivity talk. Like, assumed monogamy makes an ass of you and me, right?

“Anyway,” Connor’s continuing. “He’s on this whole, What Does it All Mean things.” 

“Huh, well,” Richie says. “I’m completely aware of what everything means, but, good for him, I guess.” 

“Hey, okay,” Connor says, amused and like he’s dealing with someone difficult. “It’s been a while, though. We should hang out. Talk about what’s changed, what’s the same. That kind of shit.” 

“Yeah, uh huh,” Richie says, and softly bangs his head on the side of the desk a few times. 

“Actually re you free right now? I kind of feel like conversation is best served, like, in person. Texting is so cold. I get bad energy from phone calls, too.” 

_How is he not in California?_ Richie thinks. _Or Florida?_ Actually, how is Conner even a real person? “Ummmm…” 

“‘Cause if you’re up to it, I’ve got this totally sweet set up, out in Jersey. We could catch up, shoot the shit. Just like old times.” 

“Old times would imply you getting a blowjob in a public bathroom,” Richie says. 

Connor laughs, long and hard. “Alright, see you there,” he says, which doesn’t really address the whole blow job thing. Richie’s about to make more of a show of checking his calendar to see if he’s ‘busy’, but Connor’s hung up. What a  _ dick.  _

Richie would probably sleep with him again given the chance, though. His phone buzzes, and it’s a message from Connor with the address.  _ Hoboken.  _

Richie bangs his head against the side of the desk again. How the fuck is he supposed to get to Jersey? It’s not like he knows anyone with a car, except for - 

Well. He does know someone with a car. Someone that he needs to talk to, actually. 

Richie stands and locks the office door, even though someone in the shop could still see him through the windows. He bounces on his heels a few times, thinks,  _ Fuck it,  _ and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

The phone rings. And rings. And rings. And then finally, a terse, “Edward Kasbrak speaking.” 

“Hey!” Richie says, already starting to pace. “Hey, it’s me. I mean, it’s Richie. Rich. Tozier? We used to….well, we were. Involved? I mean, we never really called each other  _ boyfriends  _ because of the whole, uh,  _ wife _ thing,  __ but like, I’m pretty sure you were keeping a pair of socks at my place, even though my apartment is a notorious black hole that a cat got lost in for four days once, and - ” 

“I wasn’t  _ keeping  _ them there,” Eddie finally says. “I left them. Who the fuck keeps a pair of socks at someone’s house?” 

“Apartment,” Richie corrects. “And I don’t know.” 

“Look, I know who the fuck you are, Richie. What the fuck do you want?” 

It’s been years since Richie’s been yelled at by Eddie. “Um,” he says, and  _ fuck,  _ he can’t do this. He opens his mouth to say bye or something, but what comes out is, “Hey,  _ so _ , we haven’t hung out in a while.” 

There’s a beat of silence on the other line. “Yeah, no shit.”

Richie keeps going, trying to speak fast so Eddie can’t get a word in. “Yeah, so, there’s this thing I’m going to in Hoboken, and I thought it’d be, um, nice if you joined. Like, it could be good to catch up?” He squeezes his eyes shut. 

Another beat. “Holy shit, you weren’t joking. I thought this might be some kind of weird psychological manipulation, like sending nudes to your ex so that they’re- ” 

Richie bursts out into nervous laughter. “Is that something you do, man?” 

“No,” Eddie spits, “ _ Obviously. _ ” The subtext there being that Richie probably would have received some if he did. Good thing, too. It’s not hard for Richie to imagine himself tearfully jerking off to Eddie’s now un-attainable washboard abs, or the stupid tattoos from when he was twenty three and going through his rebellious phase, a few years before they met. “I’m just having trouble trying to understand why you’d call me, out of the blue, after like, two years.”

Richie cringes. “Well - “ 

“Wait a minute - “ there’s a shuffling noise on the other end. “Hold on. You said Hoboken.” More shuffling. What the fuck is he doing? It sounds like he’s moving papers, which means he’s probably at work. “Did you - did you call me for a fucking ride, Richie?” 

_ Fuck _ . “Whaaat? No?” 

“Shut the fuck up, you totally did.” 

“No, I just wanted to - okay, yeah. Yeah, I called you for a ride.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, now that I’m saying it out loud I’m realizing how much of an asshole I’m being,” Richie says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like, what the fuck? I’m just gonna - I’m gonna leave you alone for forever now. Actually, just forget I ever called.” 

“Wait,” Eddie says. “What’s really going on? What’s in Hoboken?” 

“Um,” Richie says. “Another one of my exes?” 

“Richie,” Eddie says slowly, with what sounds like a lot of effort, “Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me? You’re asking me to chauffeur you to a  _ hook up _ ?” 

“A hook - no, no. It's just, um. You know like, a midlife crisis?” 

“You’re thirty, but it makes sense that you’d come to it a little early,” Eddie says flatly. 

Richie chokes out a laugh. “Twenty nine, and wow, okay. Sorry I don’t do triathlons, I guess.” 

“What would doing triathlons do for your dick game?”

“Stamina?” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie says under his breath. “Look, are you at work?” 

“Uh,” Richie says. “Yes?” 

“Great,” Eddie says, in a tone of voice that sounds the opposite of  _ great _ . “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Wh - really?” 

“Don’t make me say no, Richie,” Eddie says, and hangs up. 

+

“Connor’s TikTok account is just him hitting stuff with rocks and then remixing the sounds into a - well, I guess it could be called a song,” Patty announces, when Richie emerges from the office, proverbially shaking like a wet chihuahua. “And he’s sponsored by Truly, somehow.” 

“God, he’s such a douche,” Richie manages to say. “Why the fuck did I ever go out with him?” 

“Can you really call it going out if all you ever did was hook up in bathrooms?” Patty says, not looking up from her phone. 

“Hey,” Richie says, hopping onto his stool. “We’d get drinks before the bathroom stuff. That’s kind of dating.” 

“How old were you at the time?”

“ _ Any _ way,” Richie says. “I’m pretty sure he would call me his ex.” Actually, not that he’s said it out loud, he seriously doubts it to be true. Yikes.

“Uh huh,” Patty says, and sets her phone down to look at him. “You ever been to his place? Fucked in a bed?” 

“We hooked up at my apartment once,” Richie says. “And -  _ and _ , he just invited me to his place.” 

“In Jersey?” 

“In Jersey.” 

“Never fucked you in his own bed, and now he’s making you trek all the way out of the city to a warehouse,” Patty says pityingly. “Where you’ll probably get murdered along the way.” 

Richie rolls his eyes. “Actually, no, I will  _ not  _ be getting murdered. I have a ride, so fuck you very much.” 

“Whaaat?” Patty raises her eyebrows “ Who do we know that has a car in the city?”

“You don’t know him,” Richie says, and then mumbles, “It’s Eddie.” 

Patty’s eyes get comically large. “Eddie? As in Eddie Kaspbrak, number two on your top five list of all time worst heartbreaks, second only to Bev?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I told you there’s no particular order,” Richie says, leaning away from her a little. “And why is Bev at the top? How many times do I have to tell you that I’m gay?” 

“You don’t have to tell  _ anyone  _ that you’re gay,” Patty says. “You just are. Bev is at the top because she  _ is  _ a top - “ 

“Gross.” 

“ - and I’m ordering them by emotional devastation,” Patty says, “Even if you won’t.” 

“Okaaay,” Richie says slowly. “Still not getting why Bev is first and Eddie’s second.” 

Patty rolls her eyes. Very  _ You poor, dumb thing.  _ “Bev is number one because I can’t even imagine where you’d have to be at to try to date a woman - “ 

“Okay, ouch - “ 

“Which again, isn’t really an insult to you in particular because - “ 

“Bev’s a lesbian, yeah, I got it,” Richie interrupts again. 

“Right. And Eddie’s number two because getting entangled with a married dude has gotta be messy, no matter how you say it ended.” 

Richie opens his mouth. She’s kind of got a point. “Can’t argue with you there, I guess,” he says, right as her phone buzzes. “Who the fuck have you been texting, anyway?” 

“Huh? Oh.” Patty smiles, a little strained, but a way that says whatever dubious shit she’s doing, she’s not feeling too bad about it. “Stan Uris.” 

“Stanley Uris?!” Richie says, incredulous. “You’re texting Stanley Uris, number four on my top five list of all time worst heartbreaks?”

“A-HA,” Patty says, pointing triumphantly at him. “I knew you had an order. Clocked you, motherfucker.” 

“Patty, what the fuck!” 

“What the fuck me? What the fuck you! Did you already talk to Eddie and you two are so chummy now that he’s just offering you rides now?” 

“Stop deflecting!”

“Stop deflecting my deflection,” Patty says, and then stares at him until Richie blinks first and groans, about thirty seconds later. 

“Okay,  _ fine,  _ but we’re going back to this Stan thing, I swear to god. No, I haven’t talked to Eddie yet. I mean, not really.”

“Wait, so you just called him out of nowhere and asked for a ride?” 

“Well…” 

“You know, that’s so unbelievably shitty, but it’s also kinda icy, so I’m gonna have to give you one of these.” She holds her hand up for a high five, and Richie really has no choice but to slap her open palm with his own. 

“You’re a little psycho, so that doesn’t really make me feel better,” Richie says. “But there’s no way I’m taking the bus all the way to Connor’s freaky warehouse. Because I’d totally get murdered, just like you said. I figured we could catch a drink after and hash it all out afterwards.” He pauses. “Is that douchy? Is that a douchy thing to do?” 

“Yeah of course, but I get you,” Patty says airily. “‘Walk a mile in these Louboutins’ and all that.” 

“You did not just quote Iggy,” Richie says, pained. “You didn’t do that to me. Not today. It didn’t even make sense.” 

Patty makes a face like she’s tasted something bad. “Yeah, that didn’t feel good. I can’t believe he agreed to it, though.” 

It takes Richie a second to remember what they’re talking about. “Huh? Oh, Eddie. Yeah, I don’t know.” He thinks back to their earlier phone call. “I guess it was a long time ago.” 

“Whatever,” Patty says. “If that’s how you two operate, I don’t even want to be involved.”

“You’re the one cross examining me. But! You and Stan,” Richie says, fully grasping the thread of the conversation now. “That’s happening right  _ now _ .” 

Patty shrugs. “I asked for his number while he was in the other day. I kind of figured it was okay.” She grimaces. “But if it’s really weird for you, I’ll drop it.” 

“Oh,” Richie says, and pushes his glasses up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve only worked here for like a year, but I wouldn’t do that to you,” Patty says, and shrugs.

“Wow,” Richie says, unexpectedly endeared. “That’s really….nice.” 

“Also, my last job was a total shit show and taught me the value of an amicable work environment.” 

“There’s the Patty I know,” Richie says, and dramatically sighs. “Yeah, it’s fine. Stan’s nice enough that you’ll have fun fucking with him, and mean enough that he’ll survive it. Actually, he’ll probably like it.” 

“Great,” Patty says, and picks her phone up again. “Though I want you to know, the idea that you and I would have slept with the same person really made me think twice.” 

“Why? You slept with Bev that one time.” 

Patty coughs. “How the  _ fuck  _ did you know that?” 

“Haven’t you heard? We’re BFFS,” Richie says, pronouncing it like Needy in  _ Jennifer’s Body _ : biffs. Outside, a car horn sounds, and then his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Fuck, that’s probably Eddie. How do I look? Does my hair look okay?”

Patty squints at him. “No?” 

“No?!” 

“Oh my god, get on with your gay drama,” she says, looking a little red and mutters, “I can’t  _ believe  _ she told you.” 

“One of these days you’re gonna have to tell me about who slept with who at Starbucks or whatever your last job was that makes working at this place so great,” Richie says. 

“Fuck off,” Patty says, giving him a middle finger. It has three rings on it. “Try not to fuck one of your exes, or whatever. You maniac.” 

+

Eddie’s wearing a suit. Like, honest to god, a suit. As soon as he reaches across the passenger seat to open the door of what Richie used to affectionately call the hearse, Richie remembers that he has a thing for suits. And nice watches, and ties, really. Basically anything short of Eddie fucking him over the side of his desk in his financial district high-rise office building. The exhibitionism of that would have been a little too much for both of them, but hey, they invented home offices for a reason, right? That plus the magic of an adjustable standing desk really renders a real live work place obsolete, as far as Richie’s concerned. 

Standing there in a band tee and jeans, Richie feels stupidly underdressed, almost as much as he feels like Eddie is stupidly overdressed. Then Eddie says, “What, are you gonna stand there forever?” and Richie just rolls his eyes and climbs inside. 

Eddie barely waits for Richie to get his seatbelt on before he’s taking off down the street. Fuck, the driving thing is hot, too. Not that Richie gets it up for cab drivers, or anything, but Eddie’s hand flexing on the gear shift is really, um. Something. 

_ Deflect, deflect.  _ “Can I roll the window down?” 

“No,” Eddie snaps immediately. 

“Okay….can I put on music?” 

He’s expecting another immediate shut down, but Eddie just flicks his turn signal on. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t play anything awful.” 

Telling Richie not to play something awful is kind of like the kiss of death, but Richie just says, “You got it, Spaghetti,” and then cringes a little at the nickname. Luckily, he has to fuck with the Bluetooth for a solid minute or two, which helps distract him from the fact that he’s in Eddie Kaspbrak’s car again, and he has no idea how the fuck to talk to him. 

Finally, he gets his phone to work. Richie glances at Eddie from the corner of his eye when Junglepussy starts blaring; Eddie doesn’t do more than sigh and reach to turn it down, though not by that much. And then they sit in awkward silence aside from the music.. 

It takes fifteen minutes for Eddie to snap. “Are you seriously only playing songs that mention sucking toes? Are you for fucking real?” 

Richie bursts out laughing. “What, you don’t like it?” 

Eddie takes one hand of the wheel to make a sort of angry claw at Richie without looking over. It’s kind of like a Darth Vader force thing, so Richie makes some choking noises until Eddie smacks his shoulder and returns his hand to the wheel. “Is  _ that _ what you’re into now?” 

“What, sucking toes?” Richie says innocently. “Who says I always wasn’t?” 

“Because - because.” Eddie says, his ten and two on the wheel getting increasingly more tense. “I would know.”

“Maybe you never asked,” Richie says. 

Eddie makes a sound in the back of his throat that does a pretty good job to convey just how annoyed he is. “You literally fuck with your socks on, but okay.”

“Because it was winter! And who says this is about my feet? Maybe I’m a giver. Maybe I like your size eight men’s.” 

“They’re a size ten, and once again, I would know, because I fuck with my socks off,” Eddie says, and rolls his eyes. “But remind me to never wear sandals around you.” 

“Do you even own sandals?” 

“Shut up. Maybe I do. Maybe I wear them to a, a community garden. You don’t know.” 

“Well,  _ do _ you?” 

Eddie’s mouth twists. “No.” 

“Hm. Those sound like some pretty deep desires, Eds. Let’s get you some Tevas.” 

“Oh, my god, no more feet,” Eddie half shouts. “I know you’re just fucking with me. Just play some fucking Talking Heads, or whatever.”

Richie knows enough about Eddie to know that this is pretty generous, seeing as Eddie mostly listens to pop-punk from the mid 2000s and hates when Richie pretends to play the bongos along with Burning Down the House. Feeling generous himself, Richie starts with Psycho Killer instead, and sings all of the French parts as terribly as he can, just to watch Eddie roll his eyes in the rear-view mirror. 

+

“So let me get this straight,” Eddie says, once they’re parked. “You’re going all the way to Jersey to ask a guy why he broke up with you?” 

“No comrade,  _ we’re  _ going all the way to Jersey,” Richie says in a thick accent, and then, “Yeah, basically.” 

“You couldn’t just ask on the phone?” 

“I dunno, man. Maybe I just fell into old patterns. Conner asks me to come and I do.” 

“You’re so fucking gross,” Eddie says, with something like a real edge to his voice. He cuts off the ignition roughly and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“Hold on,” Richie says. “You don’t have to come in.” 

“What, you want me to wait in the car like a little kid?” Eddie says, irritated. “I don’t think so.” 

Richie shrugs to hide the That’s-So-Raven vision he’s having, in which Eddie probably ends up fighting Connor or one of his groupies in the street. “Whatever you want.” 

The warehouse is massive, one of those things that’s been finished out and subdivided (“He seriously didn’t give you directions?” “I don’t know man, he didn’t even confirm that I was  _ free,  _ he just hung up on me. _ ” _ ) but Eddie somehow figures out which buzzer to ring, and jabs at it a few times until the doors click open. 

“What’s your plan here?” Eddie asks, doing nothing to lower his voice as he stalks through the white washed hallways ahead of Richie, who has no idea where they’re going but just kind of following Eddie’s lead. As usual. 

“Huh?” 

“Like - that’s a really weird thing to ask someone. So what’s your, I don’t know, plan of attack?” 

“Woah, woah, woah. No one’s attacking anyone,” Richie says. Eddie’s looking at the slightly dusty floors with mild disgust; Richie actually thinks this place is shockingly clean. There was that one summer where he helped his college’s theatre move the contents of their prop warehouse -  _ that  _ was dusty. “Connor’s always on silent retreats or foraging for mushrooms to eat and like, see stuff. I bet I can frame it as some kind of wellness thing that’s good for the soul, and he’ll be on board.” 

“That’s so incredibly dangerous,” Eddie says, probably about the mushrooms. “And why would a silent retreat be good for making music?” 

“If you knew what Connor’s music sounded like, you’d understand.” 

“You’re so fucking - oh,” Eddie says, pausing in front of some double doors, above which are two windows with colored light bleeding out. “This is probably it.” 

“I’m so fucking what?” Richie asks. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to haul open the door. 

“Pretentious,” he says, as they survey the scene in front of him. 

There’s maybe twenty or thirty people there, all younger than them and wearing various shades of neon. The walls, ceiling, and floors are washed white, except for when the lights switch colors and cast everything in a different shade. Richie’s eyes bounce across cow print sofas and a huge, lime green rug. Something that sounds pretty close to rocks in a blender is playing through the speakers. 

All in all it seems like a great time, except for the fact that it’s half past noon and Richie has no idea what all of these people are doing here. He feels oddly old and underdressed. 

If Richie looks out of place here, Eddie sticks out like a sore thumb. “There’s fucking  _ teenagers  _ here,” he hisses, eyes darting around like one of them is going to turn suddenly into a monster. 

“Yeah, but like, they all look eighteen or nineteen, right? So like…adult teenagers?” Richie says, also looking around for Conner. Then he spots him through the mingling people, because Connor’s wearing a neon orange puffer vest, even though it’s July. 

Eddie grimances. “There’s no such thing as an  _ adult  _ teenager.”

“I don’t know, kids like Connor’s music.” 

“It’s not music.”

“Uh, unless you’re suddenly into hyper-pop, I sincerely doubt you’ve listened to it.” 

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, right as Connor spots them, grins, and does a little half wave, beckoning them over to him. Eddie mutters something that Richie doesn’t quite catch, but definitely includes the words  _ fucking  _ and  _ douche _ , so. Three guesses. 

“You made it!” Connor says, once they’ve made their way through the lingering twenty year olds scattered around the warehouse to where he’s standing. He’s wearing slides and socks. Richie kind of can’t believe that this man’s dick has been inside of him, but also kind of wants to fuck him again. There’s something about the way that he looks like his favorite song is God’s Plan that makes him stupid hot to Richie, because Richie has. Well. Issues. “Who’s this?” 

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Eddie answers, glaring already. Conner raises his eyebrows and turns the corners of his mouth down in a kind of  _ oop _ expression and conspicuously glances at Richie sideways. It is, inarguably, a totally douchey move. Eddie glares harder. 

“Pleasure, dude,” Connor says, and claps Richie on the shoulder. “Look, thanks for coming, man. You two should mingle, see who’s here - there’s this guy from Tulsa, Ed, that I think you’ll really - “ 

“It’s Eddie,” Eddie interrupts. “And actually, we have to get back to the city as soon as possible. So, uh, you should take care of whatever you need to take care of with Richie as soon as possible.” 

Richie and Conner both look at him with raised eyebrows. Eddie makes angry eye contact with Richie until Richie shrugs and says, “Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Eds.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Conner says. “Wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.” Richie barely contains a snort. “Hey, I gotta talk to my buddy real quick, but I’ll be right back.” 

Eddie looks up at Richie once Connor’s gone again, with a kind of  _ what the fuck is wrong with you expression.  _ “What?” Richie says defensively. 

Eddie makes some kind of annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “How did this - “ he gestures wide at the party, at Richie, and the space where Connor was just standing “-even happen?” 

“Oh, well,” Richie says, “I went to one of Bev’s sets at this club in Midtown, and like.” He shrugs. “I dunno, just kind of happened. I was like twenty three. Ish. Long time ago.” 

Eddie grunts, sounding unconvinced. Richie’s not sure of what.

Connor makes his way back to them, kind of dancing to what now sounds like a brick in a washing machine interspersed with sirens. Richie finds his quick return shockingly considerate.. He’d kind of expected to be kept waiting for another twenty minutes, at least. 

“Allrighty,” he says, twisting the cap off of his Nalgene water bottle to take a drink. “Richie. How are you?” 

Richie opens his mouth to reply, but then Connor cuts him off, almost immediately. “Actually, dude, you gotta come see my sanctum sanctorum. Way quieter, much better for communication. You too, Ed.”

“No thank you,” Eddie says, so quickly that it’s rude. “I’ll wait, uh. Out here.” He glances around, as if remembering what ‘out here’ entails, but then nods tightly. Richie looks at him pleadingly, and Eddie just glares back, very  _ don’t be a little bitch. _ “Go ahead, Rich.” 

“Sweet,” Connor says, clapping Richie on the shoulder and then leaving his hand there, leading him away from Eddie and towards another corner of the room. Richie twists back to look at Eddie again, standing all along there in his suit. He kind of feels like he’s been dropped off for a playdate by the world's pissiest dad. 

Connor’s ‘sanctorum’ is a roughly twelve by twelve foot cube made of colored plexiglass built into the corner of the room. If the colors in the main room were strange, this one is down right bizarre; everything is cast in orange and blue and green. There’s no bed, thankfully, just a collection of odd chairs, a shag carpet, and a mini fridge. Richie has no idea what this room is used for, since the main room also has a carpet, a fridge, and couches, among other things, but whatever. 

Connor’s teeth are very white when he grins at Richie, and Richie feels a little crazy, the way he always did with him. Richie holds his hands up stupidly in the face of it. “Uh oh,” he says.“Not a public restroom stall.” 

Connor laughs. “Man, those days were crazy. Twenties, right?” 

As far as Richie knows, Connor’s been thirty for a year at most. He widens his eyes knowingly and nods his head anyway. Man, those days were  _ crazy _ ! That kind of thing. 

“So, you really live here, huh?” Richie says, kicking lightly at a plastic chair shaped like a hand. 

“Careful, dude,” Connor says. “That was a gift from AG.” 

“Oh fuck, sorry. I’ll just…” 

Connor snorts. “Just fucking with you dude, I found it in an alleyway. Have a seat though.” He stretches a little and then heads to the mini fridge, which is painted lime green. “Cute guy you got there. Nice suit. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Rich.” He crouches in front of the fridge. “Truly?” 

“Um,” Richie says, sitting in the hand. “What flavors do you have?” 

Connor opens the fridge, which is filled with hard seltzers and not much else. “Blueberry Acai all day, man.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Richie twiddles his thumbs as Connor shrugs and takes one for himself. “So, Connor,” he finally says. “Why’d you leave me for Adrian?” 

Connor whips his head to look at Richie over his shoulder, and grins triumphantly. “I knew it,” he says. “I fucking _knew_ it. You lied to me, motherfucker, but I was right. _Just_ like Adrian. _What does it all mean_. Fucking _got_ you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie rolls his eyes. “I guess you go for the same type of guy.”

Conner hums in agreement and stands, raising his Truly at Richie.  _ Ugh.  _ “But I get it. Critical feedback is so important, you know? I can’t blame you for wanting to know.” He sits heavily on the shag carpet in front of Richie. Even though Richie’s above him, he does not feel like he has any modicum of a handle on the situation. “You’re sure, though?” 

“Uh, why wouldn’t I be sure? I dragged my ass all the way over here, man, lay it on me.” 

“Pretty sure  _ he _ dragged your ass all the way out here,” Conner says, nodding somewhere over Richie’s shoulder. Richie turns, and through the colored glass he can see Eddie standing awkwardly in the corner, glaring at the ground with his arms crossed. “Unless you got your driver’s license in the last few years and didn’t tell anyone.” 

“Okay, low blow,” Richie says, turning back to Conner. “But I guess that’s a start.” 

“Totally. Let’s get  _ into  _ it,” Connor says, grinning wolfishly. Despite his general asshole-ish-ness, Richie can tell that he’s being pretty sincere. Case in point, Connor furrows his eyebrows and appears to make a genuine effort. “I mean, I guess the first thing is that, like, you’re a pretty monogamous dude. You want it like,” Connor crosses his fingers. “That.” 

“I mean,” Richie starts, and then decides not to try to argue against it. “But like, we weren’t together like that. You ditched me and I was basically just a hookup.” 

“Yeah,” Connor says, long and drawn out. “I guess I just got the feeling that I was kind of dragging you, man. I could tell that if we kept doing stuff, you’d probably develop feelings or whatever. Didn’t want to make it worse than it was so I just,” he draws a line against his throat, “Cut it short.” 

“Okay,” Richie says, trying not to openly wince. How humiliating. “Thanks, I guess.” He moves to stand. “Super helpful, really.” 

“And also, you’re like, pretty emotional?” Connor continues, a finger on his chin. “Kind of obsessive. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s cool. Someday you’ll find someone else to be all emotional and obsessive with,” - he nods over Richie’s shoulder at Eddie again, and Richie internally cringes - “But that’s just not me. Different vibes, you get me?” 

Richie sinks lower in the hand chair. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Hope that wasn’t too harsh. It seems like you’re doing great, by the way. You look great,” Connor says. Richie, who found another gray hair last night, smiles weakly. “And I really hope things work out with Ed, and all that.” 

Richie grimaces. “Yeah.”

_ And all that _ .

+

“I can’t believe you actually tagged along to talk about  _ boys _ with me,” Richie says. “You’re a real freak, you know that?” 

They’re back in Brooklyn, sitting in Richie’s favorite bar, the one he and Bev and Patty frequent. His tastes haven’t changed too much, so Eddie’s been here before, too. Back in the day. 

“The freakiest,” Eddie says sarcastically, taking a long sip of his whiskey. “So, what’s Connor’s deal? Was he also married?”

It’s not particularly nice, so Richie says back, “What, to like a woman? Not  _ everyone _ I’ve dated is closeted.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not closeted anymore. My birthday was last week and they bought me cupcakes with rainbow frosting on them at work.” 

“Oh. Happy birthday?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says again, but with less heat. 

“Did you eat one?” 

“What, a cupcake? Of course I didn’t fucking eat one.”

“How come you can get away with that?” Richie asks, kind of fascinated despite himself. Not with the depressing workplace birthday party anecdote, but with Eddie himself. Richie’s always found him weirdly interesting, though on paper he’s probably one of the more boring people that he’s dated.

“Because people like it when I’m an asshole,” Eddie says. “It lines up with their idea of me when I take a stupid cupcake politely and then throw it in the trash like two minutes later. Which, by the way, leads us back to your whole fucking deal.”

“In what way?” 

“Your  _ idea  _ of me,” Eddie says impatiently. 

Richie sighs. “Look dude, it’s just — you were married, okay? It kind of fucked me up.” 

“It fucked  _ you  _ up?” Eddie snorts, and crosses his arms. “There is no way you’re blaming me for your shitty relationship problems. I mean, obviously our thing was - But still. It’s not like  _ I  _ ruined you for love, or anything.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Richie says. “Those wounds start in childhood.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning I’m not getting into it with  _ you _ ,” Richie says. “Unless you wanna do some sort of weird, joint therapy session with each other. Which, if I remember you right, sounds like something you’d enjoy about as much as an anal bleaching.” 

“You remember right,” Eddie says, through gritted teeth. “Just like I’m remembering that I probably have to get going.” 

“Wait,” Richie says, grabbing his shirt sleeve. Eddie looks down at his hand like it’s some foreign object. “Wait, I actually wanted to talk about…uh, about us.” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “About us?” He asks suspiciously. 

“Yeah, like, you know, I’m talking to all of my exes? My vision quest?” 

“Vision quests usually involve acid,” Eddie says, and makes a face, probably remembering his aforementioned rebellious phase. “And I kind of assumed I didn’t count?” 

Richie blinks up at him. “Huh? Why wouldn’t you count? We went out for like, a reasonable amount of time.” 

“I mean, if the whole thing is about guys leaving you, I don’t really see how I factor into that,” Eddie says stiffly. 

Richie laughs awkwardly. “Still not getting what you mean, Eds. Pretty sure you left.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie says, and pulls his arm out of Richie’s grasp sharply. “ _ You’re  _ the one who broke up with  _ me _ .” 

Richie blinks up at him. “No. What? No.” 

“Uh,  _ yeah _ ,” Eddie says. “Dude, I told you I was divorcing my  _ wife _ , and then you dipped. I mean you didn’t  _ literally  _ break up with me, you just kind of disappeared, and then I got the fucking hint after a while.” 

“I - “ Richie says, holding a finger up, and then he remembers. It  _ did _ fall apart nebulously, but he was the one who started it. What the fuck? “....Huh.” 

“ _ Yeah, _ ” Eddie says angrily. “ _ Huh _ is kind of how I felt about it too. Pretty fucking convenient for you to just rewrite that little bit of history for yourself.” 

“Well,” Richie starts. Has it really been that long that he forgot? What the  _ fuck  _ happened between them?

“So what was your deal with Connor, then?” Eddie’s continuing bitterly. “Did you say ‘I love you’ first and he ended up running off? Must have felt pretty shitty. Just speaking from personal experience.”

“Um,” Richie says. “You know what, I think I should probably go.” 

“I’m already on my way out,” Eddie says, grabbing his suit jacket off of the back of his chair. “But thanks for the heads up this time. Asshole.” 

+

Bev’s wiping what looks like spilled iced coffee off of the counter when Richie gets back to the shop. Patty’s already gone home and there’s no customers, a fact that Richie is eternally grateful for. He feels like he just got turned inside out through his asshole, and not in a good way. 

“Hey baby,” Bev says. “How’s our favorite drug dealer?” 

“Still an asshole,” Richie says, gesturing wide and sashaying over to her in time with the Kool & the Gang that’s playing through the speakers. 

“Are you drunk?” Bev asks, her lips curving a little. “What kind of party did you get up to at that warehouse?” 

“Wasn’t with Connor,” Richie says. “Eddie and I went to the bar.” 

Bev gives him a look, sharp and confused. “Eddie? Kaspbrak?” 

“He gave me a ride. To Hoboken.” 

“Okaaay.” Bev glances at their Betty Boop clock, right above the door. “And you two went to the bar, at like, at like one in the afternoon?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Hey, so, funny thing. Remember how I said I’ve always gotten dumped? Like I never broke up with anyone before?  _ Apparently _ , that wasn’t true, because  _ I’m  _ the one who broke up with Eddie. I mean I didn’t  _ actually  _ break up with him, I pussied out of it instead. But. I wasn’t left.  _ I’m  _ the one who did the leaving, for once in my life. Ha!” He manages to hop up onto the counter and swings his legs back and forth. “The spell, my dear Beverly, might just be broken.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bev says. “Back up. What do you mean you ‘pussied out of it’?” 

“I mean he told me that he was divorcing his wife, and also that he loved me, and apparently, I just….” he makes a fist and then splays his fingers. “Poof. Gone. Funny, right?” 

Bev doesn’t laugh. She’s actually quiet for a moment, and when Richie looks up, she’s staring at him incredulously.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Richie,” Bev says, her whole body tense. “Are you kidding me?” 

“No,” Richie says. “I am not kidding you, for the first time in my life.

“What the shit, man,” she says angrily, and shakes her head. “I dealt with your sorry ass for  _ months  _ after that shit show. Are you seriously saying that he was  _ divorcing his wife for you _ , and you dumped him?” 

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t dump him. Secondly, he didn’t ‘divorce his wife for  _ me _ ’.” Richie does aggressive air quotes. “Also, you don’t even know him.  _ I’m  _ the one you’re friends with. Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” 

“Not when you’re being totally fucking stupid,” Bev says, aggressively going back to wiping down the counter. “I swear to God, no one fucking self sabotages like you do.” 

“What?”

“ _ I mean _ ,” Bev says, throwing the towel to one side and crossing her arms, “How’d your stupid vision quest go? Did you ever figure out the actual, common thread between you and every single one of your top five all time worst heartbreaks?” 

“Um. I’m emotional?” Richie tries. “And clingy?”

Bev rolls her eyes. “Okay, then, how about this,” she says. “Did you  _ ever  _ think you had a chance with any of us? I mean, really, did you think any of us were gonna last in the long term?” 

“I - “ 

“You think Connor’s way too cool for you. You think Bill’s straight. I’m obvious, because you know somewhere that you don’t even like women, the same way I know that I don’t like men. You think Stan’s too good for you. And Eddie’s married.” She stares at him. “Richie, you only date people you don’t think you have a chance with. You don’t think you can be happy. And then when things start to work - like with Eddie - you blow it up.” 

“I - “ Richie starts again, and then, without control or warning, he feels his face crumple. 

The hard lines of Bev’s face immediately soften, and she crosses around the counter to hop up next to him and pull him into a hug. Richie sobs into her chest, “I don’t want to be someone people want to leave.” 

“I know,” Bev says, and holds him tighter. “I know you don’t.” 

“So I - “ 

“I know,” Bev says. 

She lets him cry it out. No one comes into the shop, which isn’t that unusual given that it’s three pm on a Tuesday, but Richie guesses Bev is probably also giving people death glares if they approach the door. 

Eventually Richie pulls back with a sniffle. There’s a huge wet spot on Bev’s Stevie Nicks t-shirt. She ducks her head to look him in the eye. “Hey. You good?” 

Richie shakes his head. “Not really.” 

Bev kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.” 

“I think I need someone to yell at me,” Richie says, scrubbing at his face. “Like, every two years for the rest of my life.”

“Then you’re good,” Bev says, leaning to grab the tissue box under the counter and hand it to him. “I can be that guy.” 

“Cool,” Richie says, and blows his nose. “God, I’m such an asshole. I seriously can’t believe I dragged Eddie to New Jersey, on top of the shit I did to him in fucking, 2018.” 

Bev laughs. “Yeah, the Jersey thing was pretty bad. Hey, Rich?” 

“What?” 

“You don’t have to be an asshole, you know?” 

Richie snorts. “Takes one to know one.” 

She pinches him. “Yeah, I  _ choose  _ to be an asshole. You act like it’s this thing that you just  _ are,  _ like you can’t help it. You don’t have to be.” 

Richie sniffles. “God, Bev, don’t make me cry  _ again. _ ” 

She shrugs. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wait another two years to tell you that.” 

There’s a buzz from his pocket. Richie wipes his nose one last time and pulls it out to read a notification. “Oh,” he says. “Bill texted me.” 

“Of course he did.” Bev rolls her eyes, and then pats Richie’s cheek.. “Come on, get your shit, we’re closing up early. Let’s get drunk.” 

+

Richie heavily debates blowing Bill off, because he has every reason in the world to. But then he thinks about how he apparently blew Eddie off for two years, and decides that getting coffee with his college hook-up will be his good deed for the day. 

They meet at a tucked away coffee shop by the university Bill apparently works at. Richie walks in the door and finds Bill immediately, more by general demeanor rather than looks. When they were kids, Bill pretty much wore faded, baggy t-shirts and smoked clove cigarettes. He also had a longish, mullet-ish hair haircut that he would tie back into a ponytail. God help twenty year old Richie, right?

The man in front of him now is wearing glasses (ha!) and a tweed jacket, and has a normal, Dead Poets Society type haircut. “Big Bill,” Richie says, and Bill stands to give Richie a man hug with a one-two pat. Or, Richie thinks it’s gonna be a man hug, but Bill leans into it. Like,  _ really  _ leans into it, and okay, everyone’s a little touch starved, no biggie, but also, you don’t see Richie going around burying his face in people’s neck all the time. 

He ends up clapping Bill on the back a few more times to signal that the hug is over. Not that he isn’t enjoying it, but if he lets himself be held any longer, he’s going to do something stupid. Like cry. 

“I’m just gonna,” Richie says, jabbing a thumb at the front counter. 

“Sure,” Bill says, pulling out a briefcase. “I’m a little behind on grading papers, mind if I..?” 

“Totally,” Richie says, giving him a double thumbs up like some kind of idiot. He glances over at Bill once or twice as he’s waiting for his drink. Watching him hunch over a coffee shop table with a red pen is eliciting a feeling reserved for whatever the fuck emotion Richie is feeling right now. Like, he used to punch the wall while he was taking showers over this guy. Now he feels kind of…..? He’s not sure.

Bill caps his pen when Richie sits back down. “S-so, um, your email said something about…rehashing your old breakups?” 

“Yeah, it did.” Richie sighs heavily. “But. Here's the thing. I’ve actually had a rough few days.” He waves at his face to indicate that he knows he looks like shit. “I sort of poked the huge, massive hornets nest that’s my dating history and got stung the shit out of, some would say predictably. So, like, let’s not actually.” 

“Oh,” Bill says, surprised. “Okay then. I don’t really have an answer for you, anyway, besides generally being twenty one and an asshole.” 

“Thanks.” 

Bill smiles ruefully. “I was talking about me. But, uh, I’d like to think that I’ve grown s-since then.” 

“Yeah, man,” Richie says, gesturing to Bill’s wedding ring with his almond milk caramel macchiato. “Looks like you’ve got a ball and chain and everything.” 

“I wouldn’t put it like  _ that _ ,” Bill says, good natured enough. “But yeah, I got married a few years ago.”

God, that would have made him what, twenty six? Twenty seven? Richie can’t even imagine, but also he feels kind of bad about dragging Bill out to empty his proverbial baggage, and then not even putting out, emotionally. Asking about your buddy’s wife is like, a decent person thing to do, right? “Yeah, what’s that like? Tell me all about her, man.” 

“Oh,” Bill says, raising his eyebrows a little. “Sure, but. I’m married to a man?” 

Richie blinks. “Uh, are you asking me? Or telling me?” 

“Telling you,” Bill says, and winces. “Sorry. You know when you hang out with people from a long time ago, and you kind of revert?” 

“Well, let’s hope not,” Richie says. “It would make this conversation even weirder.”

“Sorry. It’s just, uh, I remember telling you - more than once - that - “

“Yeah, dude,” Richie interrupts. “I gotcha. You spent junior year bragging about your average sized dick and telling me you were straight, and now you’re married to a man. But I mean, I assume you still have an average sized dick, so. The more things change.” 

“Hey,” Bill says, a little defensively. He holds up a hand, the one with the wedding ring, and Richie internally rolls his eyes and wonders if it was on purpose. “Honesty is refreshing!” 

“Yeah, I know, it already worked on me. No need to sell it again. Also, I’m not gonna have a threesome with you and your husband.” 

“I didn’t even ask!” 

“I know you, Denbrough,” Richie says.

Bill sighs. “Okay, fine, I won’t ask.” 

Richie nudges his straw around his drink. “Sooo…..what does he even do?” 

“Oh, he works at the university with me,” Bill says, reaching to straighten some papers where they’re dangerously close to Richie’s iced coffee. His tweed jacket has leather elbow patches, for fucks sake. “Teaches gender studies.” 

Oh Jesus Christ. No wonder it didn’t work out. Richie barely has a handle on this gay thing as it is - he was still having sex with women like five years ago. Well, one woman, and now she’s his boss and also a lesbian. But how the fuck is Bill practially on his way to tenure already? They’re barely thirty. All Richie can think to say is, “And you feel good about it?”

“About what? Gender studies?” 

“No, I mean.” Richie screws up his face. “Marriage?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill says easily. 

“Okay, cause it’s just - my experiences are limited, besides my parents I guess.” He takes a nervous sip of his drink. “Most of the time I’m involved with married people, I’m sleeping with one of them.” Bill squints and raises his eyebrows and - it’s just not a good face. “Yeah, I know. I’m actually - anyway. It’s complicated. Your sitch is probably better, though, because everyone knows they’re gay.” He pauses. “Sorry, that wasn’t a dig at our weird college thing, I’m literally talking about a guy I know who’s wife didn’t know he was gay.” 

“Yikes,” Bill says, which is fair. 

“And I was sleeping with him.”

“Yeah, I got that.” 

“Cool….cool.” Richie shakes the ice in his cup a little. “So, uh. How is it?” 

“Marriage? It’s great. Mike is just…the best.” Bill shrugs. “I met him hiking, actually.” 

Richie cocks his head. “You?” It’s more than a little hard to picture. Bill’s filled out a little now, but when they were younger he was about a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. 

“Yeah, I know, right? In Texas.” He sees Richie’s looks and laughs. “I went to UT for grad school, and I had it in my head that I wanted to go to Big Bend before I came back to New York.” 

“How’d that go?” 

Bill snorts. “Terrible. It’s fucking hot. And dusty. I was going to call it quits after a day or two and then I met this guy - “ 

“Mike,” Richie guesses. 

Bill nods. “Yeah, we were doing this hike - like two miles, it’s not even that bad - to this thing called the window, and he asked if I wanted to join him on this longer hike. Like, three days in the desert long.” 

“And you said yes?” Richie says incredulously. “How have you not died yet?” 

Bill shrugs. “We had good chemistry. Anyway, I said I would - “ 

“Because he’s hot.” This Richie can kind of understand. 

“Right. So, we had to take a ton of water, right? All we had was what we could carry. So our packs were as heavy as shit. And I was so fucking exhausted, the whole time. I’d go to bed and then just fall asleep, right away. I couldn’t think about anything but hiking, or talking to this guy, which was a total relief. And then on the last night…” Bill trails off in a way that’s pretty fucking clear. 

Richie holds up a hand.  _ Pause. _ “Hold on, hold on - not to make assumptions about the specifics - but were you, by any chance, giving someone  _ else  _ a hand job? As opposed to just receiving them?” 

Bill winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“ _ So, _ ” Bill clears this throat. “The last day, right? I have to go back to New York after this, and Mike lives in Maine. I’m not really sure if we’re ever going to see each other again. So then - right at the end of the hike, there’s this long, flat stretch. It’s not really a path, just desert. And we’d actually overpacked water, so the only thing to do was like, have a water fight.

“So we were like, throwing water at each other, and it’s like, the first time I’d kind of had a shower in days - and I was like, fuck, I really don’t want to just let this guy go. But he had this job starting back in Maine, so it was like. What are you gonna do?”

Richie’s sitting forward in his chair, kind of into the story despite himself. Bill continues, “Mike had this necklace the whole time, and it was like an adder stone - do you know what that is?” Richie shakes his head. “It’s like a rock with a perfect, natural hole in it.” 

“Ha. Nice.” 

Bill snorts. “Anyway. He had like, a string tied through it, and when we had to leave and go our separate ways, he gave me the necklace and his phone number.” 

“Wow,” Richie says. 

“Yeah. So eventually, he got a job that moved him to New York, and we started dating.” Bill takes a sip from his cup of coffee. “ The thing about the stone is that the hole could actually fit on my pinky, because, small hands. So when I was thinking of proposing, I thought about getting a stone engagement ring, right? But then I thought it wouldn’t last. So instead I had a ring custom made that looked kind of like it, like natural you know, and that’s what I used to propose. Because he found the rock, and then I found him, right? Like, I’ve always thought of it as really lucky.” 

Richie clears his throat. “Wow,” he says. “That’s really, genuinely, and fuck me for saying it and meaning it, romantic.”

Bill beams. “Right?” 

“I mean, there was a lot of hiking, which sounds awful, but.” Richie leans back in his chair. “Maybe love is real, or whatever.” 

“I mean, yeah. I think so.”

“Sorry,” Richie says. “You’re just so - “ he waves a hand in Bill’s general direction. “Bizarrely well adjusted. In college you were basically, like - ”

“A self destructive pathetic asshole with a kombucha addiction?” 

“Don’t forget the coke.” 

Bill laughs. “Yeah. People change, I guess.”

“God, I hope so.” They sit in silence, Richie trying to absorb everything he’s heard. He really did not expect to hear Bill’s like, marriage story. Which reminds him…. “Hey, you remember Bev?” 

“Bevvvvv,” Bill says slowly, his inflection changing half way through. Richie can basically pinpoint the moment he remembers the whole cheating on his girlfriend with his gay roommate thing. 

“She’s a lesbian, dude, don’t sweat it,” Richie says, just to put him out of his misery. 

Bill looks visibly relieved. “Oh, okay. I mean, not that it - it’s probably still not - “ 

“She’s not losing sleep over it,” Richie assures him. “Trust me. Actually, I was thinking we should all meet up for drinks. And, uh, you could bring Mike, if you wanted. Could be cool to reconnect.” 

“Sure, Richie.” He pauses. “That’s not, like - “

“Still a no on the threesome.” 

“Gotcha,” Bill says. “So, what’s the deal with the married guy?” 

“Huh? Um. He’s not married anymore?” Richie says.

“Oh.” Bill gives him a look. “What are you gonna do about it, then?” 

“Huh?” Richie says again. “I don’t follow.”

“I mean - “ Bill gestures awkwardly. “You’re the one who brought him up, man.” 

“Have I?” 

Bill nods. “Let me guess. Hornet?” 

“Actually, I’m kind of the hornet,” Richie says. “It’s a flawed metaphor. And a gay one. Like, stingers could be dicks, right?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Bill says, and clears his throat. “Look Rich, you basically just asked me about my husband, brought up this married guy, and then said maybe you believe in love. So….” 

“Fuck,” Richie says, and takes another sip of his coffee, and then another, until it’s mostly just ice. He sets the cup back down onto the table. “Looks, it’s just… I kind of fucked up, and I don’t have a lucky rock, or whatever.” 

Bill shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be a rock. Just has to be something that you share.” 

Richie pushes his glasses onto his head so that he can drag a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he says again. 

+

Eddie pokes his head out of the window of his Astoria apartment and visibly blanches when he sees Richie. 

“Did you just throw a  _ rock _ at my window?” He says, incredulous. 

“Pebble,” Richie calls up, hands behind his back. 

Eddie doesn’t look less confused or angry. “You could have called, like a normal person.” 

“I wanted to be more John Cusack about it.” Richie grins nervously. “So, um. Could we talk? Or we can just keep shouting at each other, I guess. Super New York.” 

Eddie regards him for a second, and then sighs angrily. It’s a full body exhale, too. “One second,” he says, pulling back inside and closing the window. 

Richie waits a few minutes, long enough that he’s almost sure that Eddie’s left him to rot on the sidewalk. But then he’s coming out of his front door and closing it firmly behind him and crossing his arms. He’s wearing the rare t-shirt, and his hair is kind of mussed. Richie looks up at him from the sidewalk and decides that if Eddie’s going to stand at the top of his steps, Richie’s going to respect that boundary of the fifteen odd feet between them. 

“Hey,” he says stupidly. 

“Hi,” Eddie says, shifting slightly. 

“You know, I almost wasn’t sure that you still lived here,” Richie says. “Like, I was half sure that I was gonna have thrown a rock at some grandma’s window.” 

“Richie. What are you doing here?’ 

“Oh, um. I came to apologize.” Eddie raises an eyebrow, which Richie decides to take as benevolent permission to continue. “So, uh, I’m sorry, for everything really. But especially for being really shitty and ghosting you. And then asking you for a ride. And forcing you to meet Conner Bowers, which I feel like is the worst part, so. Double sorry for that.” 

Eddie’s mouth is in a flat line. “Okay.” 

_ Here we go. _ “And, I wanted to give you this.” He takes a few cautious steps forward, pulling his hands from behind his back to hold them out to Eddie. 

Eddie blinks and frowns. “What is that?”

“It’s uh, socks? It’s a pack of socks. Because of the, you know - “

“I get it,” Eddie says. “I’m just not sure what kind of gesture this is supposed to be.”

“It’s like, a metaphor?” Eddie looks at him blankly, so Richie does what he does best: talks. “So, you know that thing I was doing? I mean, you obviously do. But I was getting coffee with this guy from college, who told me he was straight, but now he’s married to a man….anyway, he told me this story, about his husband, and how they met. They were hiking, and then there was this lucky rock. And now they’re married.” He pauses. Thinks that actually, he’s not good at talking at all. “Fuck, I’m not telling it right. You get the gist.” He’s not sure that Eddie gets the gist, so he pushes on. “But obviously we don’t have a story like that, because of the….the wife thing, and the, uh, me thing. So I got…socks.” 

Eddie’s looking at him like he’s crazy. “So….this is your idea of a grand romantic gesture?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Or it’s just socks, depending on how this goes. Either way you can keep them.” 

Eddie crosses his arms. “How do  _ you _ want this to go?” 

“I want….” Richie shifts his weight back and forth, and then decides to go all in. “I  _ want  _ to try to make it up to you. I know I really fucked up. I wouldn’t take me back, but - but if you  _ did,  _ I’d like - I just want to say it upfront, I want to try again. Without the wife this time, and hopefully with a little less of my bullshit.” 

Eddie’s expression folds in on itself. Richie waits for a tense beat, and then two, until Eddie sighs angrily and says, “See, this is the thing, Richie. It would be really, really fucking dumb, okay? You really - fucking  _ do not  _ make fun of me for saying this - you really hurt my feelings, okay? It’s been like, two years of having to deal with what went down, and now you’re back and it’s just…” 

Richie swallows and nods. He’s sensing a  _ but _ . He thinks Eddie wants him to say something. “…But?” 

“ _ But,  _ I want to, anyway.” Eddie scowls. “I  _ want  _ to,” he repeats, looking away. 

“Hey,” Richie says, stepping a little closer. “Can I be honest with you right now? I’m not gonna try to convince you, because you have every reason to tell me to get lost. If you want to sleep on it or whatever, I get that. I can hang out for a while, or not, if you really want me to fuck off.” 

Eddie looks at him. “But?” 

“But…” Richie shrugs, smiles. “Dirty thirty, right? It’s your ‘me’ years, man. Do what you want.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, and almost smiles, and Richie knows that now he can move closer, just from the way that Eddie’s shoulders have dropped. He climbs the steps up to him, and stops on the step directly below him, so that they’re eye level. Eddie says, “Give me those.” and Richie grins and hands him the socks. His hands are only shaking a little. Eddie looks at his mouth. Richie looks at Eddie’s mouth. 

It’s been a really, really long time since he kissed Eddie. He thinks it's going to be great. He thinks it’s going to be good, and then Eddie says, “Wait.” 

Richie opens his eyes. Eddie’s eyes are wide and he’s holding the pack of socks between their chests, clutching them with both hands. “Hold on - you didn’t, like. You’re not going down a list of your exes and asking them to get back together, right?” 

Richie grimaces. “Okay, that’s genuinely a little hurtful, but I don’t blame you for asking based on the way I acted. Have been acting. But like, no. Everyone else was like…it’s different with you.” 

“How descriptive,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “That really clears it up, thanks.” 

“I don’t know how to describe it!” Richie says, and clears his throat. “Okay, it’s like, with you, right? It all went to shit because I really, really liked you. With like, Connor, I’m pretty sure it didn’t work out because I didn’t top him enough.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, making a disgusted face. “Why are you even talking about him?”

“You asked!” 

“I absolutely did not.” 

“Ok, you didn’t,” Richie says, and then Eddie kisses him. 

It’s pretty fucking great. It’s pretty fucking good. “Hey,” Richie mumbles against Eddie’s lips, and pecks him once before pulling back to look him in the eye. “You only kissed me after I said you’re right. Are you conditioning me?” 

“As if conditioning you would even work,” Eddie says, which isn’t exactly a no. Then he grins, and Richie decides that he’ll be a Pavlovian fucking dog for Eddie, if he can get him to smile like that even one more time. Eddie tangles his fingers into Richie’s and turns to pull him up the rest of the steps. “Come on,” he says. “I just got new sheets.” 

“Yep, yep,” Richie says, and says a silent thank you to - to something. To New York, to Bev, to Bill, to Connor, even. To Eddie, for forgiving him. “Coming!”

+

Eddie stops by the store a few weeks later to pick Richie up from work. 

“Holy shit,” Patty whispers conspicuously, because they don’t exactly get a ton of finance bro types looking for records in Crown Heights. “Is that the Wolf of Wall Street?” 

“Yeah, kind of,” Richie says happily. “But like, gay.” 

Patty shoots him a look. “Are you - ohhhhh. So  _ this  _ is Eddie.” 

“Hey Eds,” Richie calls, waving with his whole arm. “You here for the new Gecs record?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, I am. Do you have it in stock?” 

“Fucker,” Richie says fondly. “Eddie, this is Patty. Pats, this is Eddie.” 

“‘Sup,” Patty says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“I assume it was all bad.” 

“No, you sounded fine. Really made Richie sound like an asshole, though.” 

“Well, that’s not hard.” 

“O-kay,” Richie says, and pretends he doesn’t see Patty fist bump Eddie. “ _ Coolio _ . We’re gonna go get pickles at a beer garden, so you can fuck right off, Patty.” 

“I know  _ you’re  _ going for the pickles,” Patty says. “Eddie, enjoy your beer.” 

Later, pulling on his jean jacket as they leave the store, Richie says, “You’re gonna hold this over me forever, aren’t you?” 

Next to him, Eddie snorts. “Nah. Just for like, another week.” 

“Oh, okay, then,” Richie says, and throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “I can live with that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Seems pretty doable.” 

“ _ You’re  _ pretty doable.” 

Richie laughs. Holds Eddie a little tighter. An old Daddy Yankee song is blasting out of a passing car, and the leaves on the trees are so green it almost hurts to look at. Sometimes it’s like he can’t help but love the whole world. 

“Let’s do it, then.” 

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i want you all to know that i know when eddie’s birthday is in canon and i know that he’s a scorpio. all things must make way for the joke, however. i hope you understand. 
> 
> also, they don’t make an appearance but here’s a forehead kiss for nb lesbian ben who works at the new hipster coffee place down the block from the record store. 
> 
> thanks for reading! i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jadedpearl1)


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